Gone but not Forgotten
by SerenityJane
Summary: “I can’t lose you, alright?” Jack said. His voice was low and calm, but his fingers bit into the sill, his knuckles white and straining against the skin. “We’ll find another way.” Some memories refuse to fade. Post-Adam. Comments are love.


Distant lights refracted through the sheeting rain, veiling the alleyway around him in a hellish red glow. It was dark, so dark, where his shadow lay across the ground, obscuring he didn't know what, but there was something there, lying at his feet, something that made his blood run hot, something he craved, something he needed.

The alley stank strongly of piss and blood, old stains renewed by the rain. He knelt, disregarding the filthy water soaking through to his knees. His shadow sank with him, revealing long, thick strands of black hair spilt across the concrete, floating in the pooling water.

He reached a hand forward, combing his fingers gently through the strands. It was beautiful hair.

'I remember the hair,' he thought.

It had poured over her shoulders and down her back like silk as she flung herself about the crowded dance-floor, high on adrenaline and something a good deal harder. It was what had caught his attention as he had sat at the bar, sipping at a cocktail and leisurely scanning the crowds for his next conquest.

He followed the wet strands back to their source, and ran his fingertips delicately across her face. High cheekbones, a snubbed nose, full lips, pointed chin.

'I remembered the face,' he thought.

She had stared up at him, looking so sweet, so vulnerable, so powerless as her body struggled against his, her arms flailing uselessly, caressingly, her hair caught between his hands and the rough brick wall. He had let her go, just so he could chase her down again. She had bounded ahead of him like a deer, casting coy glances over her shoulder, 'Come chase me, chase me …'

He had obliged, of course.

He tucked his hands underneath her shoulders, and gently pulled her upright, cradling her cold body against his chest.

A drip of viscous black liquid dribbled down her cheek, gradually diminished by the trail it left behind, carried down by the rain, or perhaps a left-over tear.

She wouldn't be crying anymore, he thought sadly, disappointed. Wouldn't be struggling, wouldn't be screaming.

He looked deep into her calm, dead eyes, and envied her her peace.

She was beyond hunger. But he still craved.

He tenderly laid her down on the hard concrete once more. He tidied her up, straightened her legs, pulled her skirt down from where it had ridden up her thighs. He folded her arms across her chest, and drew her eyes closed. He smoothed a stray strand back from her face, and kissed her cheek.

He left her there, and headed back to the crowds, the undulating, lively crowds, already considering who he should take next. 'One more should do it,' he thought, not for the first time. 'Just one more.'

He left her in the alley, secure in the knowledge that Adam would take care of her.

* * *

Ianto was woken by the sound of retching and choking.

It took him a few moments of pain-riddled thought to realise that the noise had come from him.

He rolled his body quickly, violently, so that he lay on his stomach, and hung his head over the side of the bed. He thought desperately of nothing, of concrete walls or still water, in an attempt to keep the contents of his stomach exactly where they were and not scattered over the carpet. After a few more dry retches, his stomach decided to cooperate.

He lay still for a few seconds, just to be sure, then pulled himself upright, groaning.

Three times, he thought to himself. Three nights, three nightmares, three women, three murders.

Ianto stood carefully, in stages, first bracing his hands against the sheeted mattress then straightening his legs, levering himself into a position that was not quite upright, but the blood still thrummed loudly through his head in protest.

He staggered into the bathroom, for once very glad he had such a small flat.

A few minutes under the cold spray of water pushed the headache back to something he considered bearable. A few more minutes and he was able to think again, not that he particularly wanted to.

There was something wrong, that was obvious.

Just as obvious was when the wrongness started.

The first time it happened, he lost two days. He'd woken up in the conference room, a cramp in his neck and Owen's head on his shoulder, Gwen and Tosh sitting across from him and just beginning to stir, an empty glass set on the table before each of them, and Jack standing at the window, staring at something other than the hub laid out before him. Owen had been wearing glasses and had his hair parted to the left, Tosh had a gorgeous bunch of flowers left on her desk, Rhys had told Gwen that she'd forgotten who he was.

One month later it had happened again, only this time it had been him alone. Ianto had woken up alone in Jack's bed one morning, his mind thick and hazy, to find that twenty-four hours had been lost and no-one could tell him why.

Tosh had told him he'd been acting distracted the day before, starting at shadows, and Gwen thought he'd looked a bit tired. Owen said he'd been more snippy than usual. And that the blood-test he'd run for ret-con had been negative.

Jack had parroted the others, but Ianto had been certain the Captain knew something.

He'd spent the next three weeks trying to keep himself at a slight distance, and Jack spent that same time trying to do the opposite. Ianto found himself bombarded with attention, the other man going out of his way to talk to him at odd hours of the day, taking him out to lunch, trying to convince him to stay the night at the hub far more often than usual.

Ianto had watched Jack closely, trying to find a hint of what was wrong, only to find that he was being watched in turn, Jack's eyes concerned and grave even while he grinned and flirted and joked.

Emergency after potential apocalypse after emergency had pushed the missing bits of his life to the back of his mind, to be brought to the forefront and worried and brooded over whenever he had a spare moment, like a dog gnawing at an old bone.

Until he lost a week.

Ianto turned around and spread his hands against the cool tile, letting the water pound against his back.

Jack was scared. Ianto could see it in his eyes every time the man looked his way. Jack was scared, and he wouldn't tell him why. No matter how much Ianto threatened or begged, Jack wouldn't tell him what was happening, wouldn't say what was wrong. He told him to try not to remember, said it was better not to know, said he _needed _Ianto to trust him.

He couldn't leave it, though. His mind prodded at the missing time like a tongue would poke at the gap of a recently lost tooth.

He meditated, hoping the forgotten would resurface. He relived those last moments before the gap obsessively. In his mind he showered, dressed for bed, brushed his teeth, combed his hair, reread cantos IV, V and VI of Dante's Inferno, turned off the bedside lamp, drifted off to sleep, hoping that it would bring back what happened next.

He'd done his own blood test for ret-con, without telling the others. It was positive, as he'd known it would be.

He couldn't trust Owen anymore, couldn't trust the girls. They looked at him like he was a stranger. Silence fell when he entered a room, and lifted again when he left. Gwen watched him with conflict and compassion in her eyes, Tosh tried to act as if nothing was wrong, but she was never much of an actor, and Owen needled him ceaselessly, tried to make him forget what he'd forgotten.

Then the dreams started

Ianto knew what was wrong, now. Or at least he thought he did. He prayed to God or whoever listened that he was mistaken, but they were too real. Those vivid, terrible dreams.

Yesterday he'd scoured CRIMINT, his heart in his throat, cursor jerking across the computer screen as his hands trembled, watching the faces scroll past. He didn't recognise any of them, none of the recent murder victims, none of the recently missing, but it meant nothing. Torchwood was involved, after all. They could cover up an alien spacecraft landing in the middle of a footy match. A few broken necks, a few suffocations were easy to disguise.

Ianto turned of the water, and reached for his towel, drying himself off before stepping out onto the tile. He dressed in one of his more sombre suits, black jacket and pants, black tie, white undershirt. Dichromatic.

He left home at 5.30am, as usual. Drove at a steady speed, arrived at the Tourist Office at 6.00am.

He went on with his day as if it were any other day, as if he were fine, as if he wasn't terrified of himself. He gave Myfanwy her bucket of ground beef and insects drenched in barbeque sauce, changed the weevil's water, watched them devour their bloody haunches with their usual gusto, feeling extremely ill as he recalled some of the details of his second dream.

Forcing the nausea down, he made Jack his morning coffee, and walked up the staircase to his office.

Ianto saw Jack look up from his paperwork as the door opened, grinning his usual grin.

"Morning, Ianto."

"Good morning, sir," Ianto replied, and stepped into the room, closing the door behind him.

The grin faltered slightly at that, but he went on gamely. "What have I told you about calling me sir?"

Ianto set the steaming mug next to an uneven pile of documents. The other man put down his pen and wrapped long fingers around the mug, watching as he pulled a chair closer to the desk and sat down

There was silence for a few moments. Ianto took a deep breath, steadying himself.

Jack opened his mouth, but Ianto spoke first. "I killed them, didn't I, Jack?" he said quietly.

That took care of the last of his smile.

"Ianto -"

"I killed those girls, and you covered it up."

"No, I …"

"You gave me ret-con. To make me forget – make us all forget, the first time it happened. But it happened again, didn't it? I was infected, or I snapped, or changed, or something. I think you must have got to me in time, that second time. I only lost one day, after all. But then it happened again, didn't it? Five days, Jack, you took away _five days_. How many did I slaughter?"

"Goddamnit, Ianto," Jack said, his voice agonised. "You _promised me_. You swore that you'd try to forget."

Ianto had hoped he was wrong. With Jack's words, that faint hope died, drowned under the weight of his conviction, his guilt. 'I figured it out,' he thought. 'Oh, _god, _I was right.'

"Why did you cover it up?" Ianto asked, his voice trembling with horror, feeling betrayed. "You should have put me down, locked me in the dark with the other monsters. But you left me free to do it again, and again, and _again._"

"Ianto," Jack stood and came around to the front of the desk. "Ianto, you've got to listen to me." He knelt by Ianto's side, and his hands were cold and cramped inside Jack's. "You didn't kill _anyone_, I promise you."

"It's all starting to come back, now. The dreams, I can remember it. The first time it was a whim, I was watching this woman walking home from work, and I wondered what it would be like … I pulled her down a side street, held my hand over her face while she screamed. I could smell meat cooking, sausages from a restaurant down the block, and I was hungry. I had my hands around her neck, I was killing her, and I was _hungry_." He relived it as he spoke, felt her throat constricting beneath his hands, savouring the needles of pain as she scratched at his arms. "I'd never felt so alive before, Jack," he whispered. He grasped a hand about his own throat, staring off into the distance. "_God, _what am I?"

"_Would you listen to me_?" Jack shouted, grasping Ianto's face tightly between his hands, forcing his head around gaze to meet his. Jack was breathing heavily, his thumbs caressing Ianto's cheeks. "You didn't kill anyone, Ianto."

"But I remember…"

"Yeah, that's the problem." Jack said. "You remember parts of it, but you never recall everything. Something altered your memories, that first time. Something changed all our memories. I don't know who, but it was some creature from the Void. We had to forget it in order to banish it."

Ianto looked at him with disbelief.

"I wrote a note to myself, alright?" Jack's hands shifted from his face to his shoulders, kneading them as he spoke. "It's a creature that lives on memories. It doesn't have a corporeal form unless someone remembers it. It's name, what it looks like, that sort of thing. Those actions, thoughts, those feelings, they were imposed on you. They're not yours."

"How can you be sure?" Ianto whispered.

"Because …" Jack paused for a moment, looking sheepish.

"Because?" Ianto asked warily.

"Because you haven't really been alone since you forgot that first time."

"You've been watching me."

"You asked me to." Jack defended himself. "I had that written on the note as well – you weren't sure that the memory-worm hadn't done some permanent changes, so you asked me to keep you watch you, just to be sure. You haven't killed anyone. You haven't been anywhere other than work, home and the shops for a month."

"How did you manage to keep me under constant surveillance?"

Jack used his grip on Ianto's shoulders to lever himself upright, and picked up what looked like a game console controller from his desk. He pressed one of the buttons, then gestured to the space above his head.

Twisting, Ianto saw a small orb hovering in the air, a single glass eye focused steadily on him.

Ianto thought about it. It made sense, he supposed, as much as anything that happened at Torchwood made sense.

It fit, when he thought about it. Those dreams, it was like those scenes had been cut and pasted into his mind, the before and after left out. He had no memory of how he got to be at the club, or how he'd gotten home, or what Adam had done about the bodies. There were no records of those women disappearing, or their bodies being discovered, and it wasn't like they were homeless or on their own. People would have noticed, kicked up a fuss.

"I'm glad you thought of it, actually," Jack said. Ianto looked down from the camera to watch Jack, who was standing opposite him, leaning against his desk. "It's much easier to convince you when I have evidence."

'It's much easier to convince you when I have evidence.' Ianto considered the words, and came to a disturbing conclusion. "How many times have we had this conversation. Jack?"

Jack ran his fingers through his hair, looking weary. "This is the third time." He reached a hand into his pocket, and pulled out a small medication bottle. He held it out, and Ianto reluctantly took it.

"If the memories begin to come back, the memory-worm could be drawn back from the Void," he explained. "We can't be sure we'll get rid of it a second time."

Ianto examined the bottle absently as he thought, biting his lip. "Apparently, I've already remembered it twice, Jack," he said after a minute. He smiled wryly, though the expression was a mask for despair. "Thrice, now. How many times are we going to go through this?"

Jack set his jaw stubbornly. "As many as it takes. We have a lot of ret-con, Ianto."

"And the others? What do they know?"

"They know what they've seen."

'So,' Ianto thought to himself. 'They've seen me acting paranoid, untrusting, jumpy. Terrified. I keep having big swathes of memory taken from me, and they must know who's doing it.'

"You ordered Owen to lie about those first test results?"

Jack shifted uncomfortably. "Yeah, I did."

Ianto nodded. Owen would surely have told the girls Jack was ret-conning him without his knowledge. He had no idea what conclusion they'd have come to, putting that together with his recent behaviour.

Ianto opened the bottle, and exhaled softly when he saw that it contained only two pills.

He looked up at the other man, watching his expression. "You know what we need to do, Jack."

"No," Jack replied, shaking his head. "No, we don't. It'll stick this time, Ianto. You just have to stop trying to remember."

"It's going to keep happening." Ianto said with conviction. "I'll keep trying to remember, and the dreams will keep coming back. I know about the ret-con, Jack. I know what has to be done to fight it. If I forget about the ret-con, we won't have to worry about …." Adam, he suddenly recalled, " … the memory-worm anymore." Ianto stood up, and gripped Jack's shoulders tightly. "Jack, I remember who it was. We have to do this _now_."

"Here," Jack passed Ianto the mug of coffee he'd made earlier, his lips twisted into what Ianto thought was supposed to be a reassuring smile. "I know you hate dry-swallowing."

"One pill won't be enough, Jack."

"_I'm not_ …" Jack shouted, then he stopped, took a breath and jerked himself free of Ianto's grasp. He turned away, standing by the window, staring out at the dawn. "When did you start having the dreams?" he asked after a moment.

"Three nights ago."

"Then one pill is enough."

"I can't live like this, Jack," Ianto said quietly, moving to stand beside the other man. The sun was just rising, staining the ocean a warm orange. "I can't keep losing half my life then spending the rest of it paranoid and suspicious, wondering why you've taken it." Jack opened his mouth to argue, but Ianto kept talking. "What if I hadn't come to you this time? I nearly didn't, you know, it was so hard to trust you when I knew what you were doing. We can't keep taking the risk that the memory-worm will come back."

"I can't lose you, alright?" Jack said. His voice was low and calm, but his fingers bit into the sill, his knuckles white and straining against the skin. "We'll find another way."

"It needn't be forever, you know. After I'm released from the hospital, you could show up on my doorstep. Tell me that you were my old boss, or an ex-boyfriend, or something. A new start, Jack. Everyone deserves one, right?"

Jack turned, studying his face carefully. "You don't really want that." Part-question, part-statement.

Ianto sighed. "No, I don't. But I also don't want to keep doing this."

Jack pulled him into a hug, which Ianto did his best to return, but was slightly hindered by the coffee and pills held tightly in his hands.

"I'll figure something out, Ianto," he promised, the words muffled against his chest.

After a moment he pulled back, and took the pill bottle from Ianto. He unscrewed it in one swift movement, and spilled the ret-con onto Ianto's outstretched hand.

Ianto placed the pill on his tongue and, wincing at the bitter taste, hurriedly gulped a mouthful of coffee. He threw his head back as he swallowed, then took another mouthful of coffee, to make sure it went down.

Ianto put the mug down on the sill, then turned to Jack.

"Keep an eye on me, alright?" he asked, already feeling slightly drowsy. "I almost didn't come to you."

"Yeah," Jack smiled. "That's what you said last time."

His hands now free, Ianto returned the hug properly, wrapping both arms around the other man.

They stood like that awhile, Jack gradually taking more of his weight as the sedative began to take effect.

Jack pressed their lips together, just before Ianto fell asleep. "I'll find a way," he whispered.

Ianto's last thought before he slipped into the dark was that Jack's words sounded more of a prayer than a promise.


End file.
